


Where I'm Supposed To Be

by SciFiDVM



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen, Iraq!Miloe (platonic friendship)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SciFiDVM/pseuds/SciFiDVM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flaanery asked for some pre-blackout Miles and Bass friendship in our Revo LJ Secret Santa.<br/>Here are the boys celebrating Christmas in Iraq. Hope it doesn't disappoint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where I'm Supposed To Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flaanery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaanery/gifts).



**December 25, 2006**

Miles and Bass were hunkered down behind the crumbling remnants of a wall that had once made up the side of one of the standard earthen homes in some little unnamed village a few dozen clicks outside Fallujah. Bullets were intermittently peppering the wall and the nearby structures providing cover for the rest of their squad, where they had all been pinned down.

“Remember those stories about Christmas Day during World War II, where there was a cease fire and all the soldiers met in no-man’s land and had a party and swapped cigarettes and shit? Why can’t Sadaam and his buddies out there get in the same Christmas spirit?” Bass grumble peeking over the edge off the wall, firing a half dozen shots, and dropping back down beside Miles.

“You do realize that they don’t celebrate Christmas…” Miles dead panned before taking a few shots himself and dropping back to safety.

“I know.” Bass griped. “But I do. And we got what’s probably the only meal of actual real hot American food we’re gonna get all damn year waiting for us back at camp, if we can just get there.” His voice turned frustrated and angry as he finished the sentence and took a few more shot over the top of the wall.

“Didn’t know you cared so much about food.” To anyone else, Miles’s voice would not have seemed to have held much inflection, but Bass heard the sarcasm and incredulity loud and clear.

With a muffled grumble Bass added. “That turkey dinner might not be the only thing I was planning to eat the hell out of tonight.”

Miles chuckled and took a few shots over the wall before adding. “So you finally worked your magic on that brunette reporter chick embedded with the five-eight?”

Bass fired a few more rounds, then replied, “You say that like you doubted my prowess.”

“This one seemed to have class. Figured she was smart enough to see through your shit.” Miles fired over the wall again and a distant scream carried over the chilled desert air. “Think I got one.”

“Don’t let that hoity British accent fool you. I heard from Mikey over in the seventy-fifth that she acts all proper in public, but gets as dirty as they come once you get her…” Bass stopped abruptly and took two shots over Miles’s shoulder. An advancing enemy soldier that had been sneaking up on the side of the shack next to them where more of their team had taken cover once they were ambushed dropped dead.

They got quiet after that. A few more volleys of bullets were exchanged between their forces and the enemy before no one was returning their fire. They heard some shots in the distance, followed by silence, then the sounds of the standard US armored personnel carriers rumbling up the tiny dirt road to their location. Their squad leader in the building next to them threw out a lit red flare, and the convoy came to a halt right in front of their location. Armed soldiers jumped out and covered them as Miles, Bass, and the rest of their squad scrambled into the trucks. Only one of their men had been injured – a shot through the muscle of his calf. He’d be fine. It was a Christmas miracle.

As they finally started to relax sitting next to each other on the bench seats in the back of the vehicle, Miles cracked a smile and looked over at Bass. “Should have known you wouldn’t let a little thing like a war come between you and getting some ass.”

Returning his smile, Bass clapped a hand on Miles’s shoulder. “You know it, brother.”

The rest of their return to base was blissfully uneventful. Once they were all safe within the compound, they sat through a quick debriefing, hit the showers, and then were free to partake in the Christmas dinner, complete with bottles of actual American Budweiser, a rare treat donated and shipped to the base to improve morale for all the service men and women stuck overseas during the holiday. The boys had finished eating, and as Bass was already working on his fourth beer and putting the moves on his latest female target, Miles slipped off to the telecommunications area.

Miles had actually received a letter from back home a few days earlier, an incredibly rare occurrence. It was from his brother. Ben had wished him a happy and safe holiday, and requested that he call him as soon as possible. Miles sat down in the chair in a cubicle in front of the computer screen. He hated these computer terminals, had ever since shortly after deployment when he’d tried to video call Emma only to have her deny the call and send a letter a few weeks later that contained the ring he’d given her and a Dear John letter. Pushing his growing unrest aside, he entered all his pertinent credentials and passwords to access the system, then dialed Ben’s number. Miles contemplated the time difference as the system continued attempting to reach his brother. Even though it was approaching midnight in Iraq, it would be mid-afternoon back in Chicago. Just as Miles was prepared to give up, assuming that his brother was too busy to answer him, the screen lit up, and he saw his brother’s face adjusting the web cam.

“Miles! Merry Christmas!” Ben looked happy and probably a bit inebriated. In the background Miles could see the little apartment his brother and sister-in-law, the only way he would allow himself to think of her since that night at the airport a few months earlier, shared was decorated festively for the holiday, and some people he didn’t recognize were milling around in the background. They were having a party.

“Benjamin.” Miles greeted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his brother looking this happy. Maybe that time he’d won the ninth grade science fair? He noticed his sad bland surroundings and recalled the way he and Ben had so often fought about his decision to join the military. Miles worried that his virtual presence would bring down his brother’s unprecedented good mood. “Didn’t realize you were having a party. Don’t let me interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting!” Ben insisted. “I just wish you were here with us to celebrate.”

“Not my first Christmas away.” Miles shrugged. “Thought you’d be used to that by now.”

“It’s not just Christmas this time, little brother.” The glee still hadn’t faded in Ben’s eyes. “I promised that I’d wait until Rache could be here with me to tell you, but she just ran off to the bathroom in a hurry again, and at this rate she’ll be in there getting sick for a while still. And who knows when you’ll get to call again.”

“Is she ok?” There was suddenly panic in Miles’s voice.

“Oh yeah. She’s fine. It’s been happening more frequently now, but they say that’s normal at the beginning of the second trimester.”

“The what?” Miles was sure he must have heard that wrong.

“Surprise! We’re pregnant! That’s what I wanted to tell you. You’re going to be an uncle.” Ben’s face radiated joy through the monitor.

Miles was speechless. A thousand things ran through his mind, including some very simple mathematical calculations that put him nearly into a panic attack. Fortunately, some autonomic portion of his brain that knew how to appropriately interact with the outside world caused him to utter, “Congratulations” without even realizing that he was speaking. He was numb as Ben prattled through the usual comments about secretly hoping for a boy but how he’d be happy with either as long as it’s healthy, and hoping that the kid would get its looks from its mother. His brain beginning to catch up with the conversation, Miles seconded the latter sentiment and promised to share the good news and the family’s Christmas tidings with Bass.

Miles was still stunned, staring at the monitor, when a guest came up to Ben and whispered something in his ear. “Hey Miles, I gotta go. Rache needs a little help. But it was great getting to see you and Merry Christmas. You guys stay safe over there. You’ve got a little niece or nephew you need to make it back to meet!”

“Uh. Yeah. You too. Merry Christmas.” Miles barely grunted out as the image on the monitor disconnected.

He just sat there staring at the blank screen, in shock. She’d done exactly what he’d told her to do. She’d gone off and started a family without him. He knew it was right, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Miles was jolted out of his morose reverie by a hand clapping down on his shoulder. “Hey man, you trying to call 1-900 numbers on Uncle Sam’s dime again?” Bass smirked. The brunette British reporter was a little tipsy and plastered to Bass’s side like he was the only thing holding her upright. They were obviously on their way back to the barracks.

“Nah. Ben said to call when I…” He trailed off, but quickly recovered and simply stated, “Rachel’s pregnant.”

Bass cocked an eyebrow at him, the inebriation and mirth that had been in his blue eyes moments before now instantly sobered. He leaned over and whispered something into his companion’s ear. She gave him a pouty look before disengaging herself and staggering back over toward the party. “Come on, brother.” Bass pulled Miles to his feet with a heavy hand grabbing a fistful of his shirt sleeve. “Let’s get out of here.”

As they left the commissary and rec area, Bass snagged a couple of the beer bottles that were strictly prohibited from being removed from that location and led Miles toward the dunes put behind the medical tents. They silently sat in the sand and watched the far off flickering lights of Baghdad in the distance and sipping at the quickly warming beer. After nearly forty minutes in silence, Bass finally broke the quiet.

“It yours?”

“Not sure.”

“Ben didn’t say when…”

“Too vague.” Miles cut him off before Bass could finish the question.

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.” Bass shrugged and they went back to their beers.

It was about fifteen minutes later, and Bass was occupying himself by slowly picking at the edges of his long empty bottle’s label when Miles spoke again, still looking straight out ahead into the desert, “Didn’t you have somewhere to be tonight?” He felt guilty that Bass was now having to sit and babysit his morose ass instead of being off somewhere balls deep in that reporter chick that he’d been working on for the past week.

“I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” Bass also said it without turning to face his friend.

Miles nodded slightly.

They spent the rest of the night sitting out on that dune side by side alternating between silence and Bass telling crude jokes to ease the tension. When the inky blackness of the desert sky started to lighten, Bass stood and extended a hand down to Miles. “You done pouting?”

“You done being a dick?” Miles smiled as he let his friend help him to his feet and then brushed the sand from his fatigues.

They slowly trudged back toward the mess hall for coffee. When they reached the door, Mile paused and looked at his friend. “Thanks.”

“No problem, brother. Merry Christmas.” Bass smiled and put an arm around Miles’s shoulder. They entered the building together, both smiling.

 

 

Merry Christmas!


End file.
